


Surrendered

by nerdqueen666



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-07-25 20:07:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20031595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdqueen666/pseuds/nerdqueen666
Summary: Angela was one of the few people that didn't fear Moira — until she did.Alone in her lab, Moira struggles to accept the fallout of her relationship with the one person who actually understood her...





	1. Doctor's Orders

_“You really shouldn’t drink so much,” says a voice. Moira looks up from the glass tumbler of whiskey clutched in her long fingers. Angela is sitting on the barstool next to her, her legs neatly crossed at the ankle. Her gold hair is pulled back into a loose braid and she’s wearing a blue sundress with a full skirt. _

_“It’s not good for your health,” she says, in that sweet yet chastising way only Angela is capable of. When Moira gives advice it tends to come off more like a growl — not that she is someone people typically turn to for advice. _

_Still, despite the warning of the beautiful woman next to her, Moira tosses back her glass. Angela laughs through closed, upturned lips. It’s a familiar sound to Moira: the sound of both joy and heartbreak — their connection and differences wrapped up in a single sonic moment._

_Moira feels the fear in her belly suddenly overcome with the liquid courage of the top-shelf whiskey she just downed in a single gulp. She lifts up her hand and places it atop Angela’s much smaller hand, which is resting on the marble bar top._

_Moira can feel Angela’s first instinct is to pull away, but the flinch only lasts for a second. Still, the color rises up Angela’s throat and leaves her face a charming shade of pink. _

_“I still make you nervous after all this time?” Moira says, her voice low and hoarse. _

_“Moira, I…” _

Moira’s eyes peeled open and it’s exactly as she suspected: another dream. Instead of blue dresses and good whiskey, Moira found herself surrounded by the cheap sheets and burnt smell of her lab. Christ, she thought. 

With a groan, Moira rolled over and grabbed the pocket communication device kept in a charging port next to her cot. It’s still early: just past five in the morning. Of course, one wouldn’t know it in the lab, where lights are flickering and buttons beeping at all hours of the day. 

Would it kill you to install a window in here? She asked herself. Then, in response: Probably.

Despite the ungodly hour, Moira could feel that attempts to fall back asleep would be futile. Instead, she’d just lie there unproductively daydreaming about Angela’s braided hair brushing up against her shoulder. 

No, Moira thinks, kicking off the pile of blankets used to keep warm in the chill of the lab. Her cot was tucked in the corner of a storage room at the back of her lap, along with a few cooking contraptions and sets of spare clothes. It looked as drab and disorganized as any bachelor pad, but this was actually the first time she had slept there in months, as far as she could remember. 

The night before, she had decided against returning to her flat a few miles away, fearing the sleepless nights that eventually gave way to recurring dreams would find her once again. It turns out, as one might expect, that the change of scenery did little to influence her subconscious and the dreams had come yet again.

Moira filled up the kettle and set it down on the hotplate kept in the “dining area” of the room. From the opposite side of the room, she picked up a black turtleneck and a pair of black slacks, giving them a quick sniff before shrugging and deciding it didn’t matter anyway. Not today, at least. 

In the bathroom she scrubbed her face with cold water and ran a wet comb through her bright red hair. Like the clothes, her slicked back hair was unwashed, but it didn’t matter. 

Back in her room, Moira poured herself a cup of instant coffee and nibbled on a stale piece of bread. 

“Seamus,” she called out. “What’s on my schedule for today?” Seamus was the name of her artificially intelligent personal assistant, a program she had designed and interconnected around her lab and into her pocket communication device. 

Seamus flickered to life with a few friendly beeps. 

“Good morning, Dr. O’Deorain,” he said in a slightly robotic Brogue. “Your sleep tracker indicates a less-than-ideal quality of rest. Is everything alright?” 

“Yes,” Moira said, cutting him off. “Just tell me my schedule.” 

“Of course, Dr. O’Deorain. It looks like today you have a conference call with the Talon Scientific Council to discuss progress on nerve agent development. That is at 12 p.m. Should I prepare a briefing?” 

“Fine, fine,” Moira waved, rubbing her temples. Insufferable Talon Scientific Council, she thought. What miracle would they ask her to perform this time around? And all of their rules and regulations and oversight committees. She was the highest-ranking scientist on the team, and still no autonomy. 

“There is one other appointment,” Seamus said. “A three o’clock check up with a Mr. Reyes.”

“Cancel it,” Moira shot back. The only thing worse than speaking before the council today would be speaking to someone who actually knew her. Even worse was the possibility that Reyes knew something of her relationship — or lack thereof — with Angela. Rumors and whispers had a way of travelling...

“Well, doctor…” Seamus trailed off. “It’s just — you have said so yourself that routine maintenance is critical to the balance of Mr. Reyes’s new form.”

“And?” 

“Well, it just seems an unnecessary risk to take...doctor.” 

“Fine,” Moira said. She rose from her seat and headed into the lab to begin preparing her notes for the Council meeting. “Send him a message,” she added, pulling on a crisp white lab coat from a set of hooks near the door. “Make sure he’s here on time today.” 

“Certainly, Doctor.”


	2. A Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moira receives a visit from Gabriel "Reaper" Reyes, who won't seem to stop pestering her about Angela. What will she tell him?

Moira somehow made it through the Council meeting unfazed. No one seemed to notice the distraction in her voice or the numerous times she stuttered while reading from the paperwork regarding her latest project. Instead, they seemed as satisfied as usual with her work. Such a response was a benefit of everyone fearing you at least ever so slightly, she knew. 

Yet, it was almost enough to make Moira wish she did have someone to notice. What was the proper term for such a thing? A friend? A confidante? A fellow human being to notice that her scowl was ever-so-slightly more downturned today, and the crest between her eyebrows even deeper with a frustration that certainly could not be related to science? 

There was always Seamus to talk to, of course — but sharing your inner turmoil with a robot butler you had programed seemed beyond pathetic, even by Moira’s typical loner standards. 

Of course, Angela had been someone she could talk to. She was one of the few people that didn’t fear Moira, not even slightly. Instead, Angela treated her with the same cool sweetness with which she treated everyone. A detachment and a wryness that somehow still felt comforting. In turn, Moira could be herself in Angela’s presence, she found. There were even times when Angela had made her downright verbose, rambling on about the finer points of mRNA or the replication of plant-based diseases in human genetic code or the results of the football match she had drunkenly watched the night before. Mid-sentence, she’d realize she’d been talking for 10 minutes straight only to look over and find Angela, chin tucked into her hand, staring at her with a faint smile. 

There were no faint smiles to be found now. Yes, perhaps Angela had been one of the few people who didn’t fear Moira, but who knows if that claim held true now. Moira doubted it did. Not after what had happened.

So, instead, there was no one. What else was new? It shouldn’t be hard to adjust. This was how things had always been, anyway. 

Distracted, Moira put a bowl of instant ramen in the microwave, sat down at one of the lab tables, and began absentmindedly doodling. She wasn’t particularly artistically gifted, but she liked the watching a pen glide over a smooth piece of paper, drawing cells, strands of DNA, glittering halos...

“Sorry to interrupt, Doctor,” Seamus said. “But it would seem your three o’clock appointment has arrived.” 

Moira practically growled. 

“Send him in,” she said. 

Moments later, Gabriel Reyes burst through the front doors of Moira’s laboratory. He stood tall and wide, wearing a dark purple cloak that made him appear more shadow than man. And he was, in a way. 

With a flash, he — the man they called Reaper — was suddenly at Moira’s side. She didn’t bother to look up, though she could feel him hovering over her shoulder.

“Nice art,” he said in that sandpaper voice that made it impossible to tell whether or not he was mocking you. 

“Hello, Gabriel,” Moira said. “How kind of you to drop by.” She set down her pen with a slight slap onto the table and spun in her chair to face him. Gabriel drew back his hood and revealed the scarred face that so many had seen in the last seconds of their lives. Only now, that rugged face wore a look of slight bewilderment.

“You look like hell, doc,” he said. 

Moira sneered and strode past him, making her way to the operating table where she routinely examined his undead body. Gabriel followed close behind her.

“Touched a nerve, did I?” 

“You didn’t touch a thing,” Moira said. She took a deep breath and tried to regain the composure she quickly felt slipping away. “Now sit,” she said, pointing a long finger towards the examination table. 

Gabriel obeyed, tossing his cloak over a chair and hopping atop the table like a kid at a doctor’s office. 

Moira began running through the motions of her regular examinations on Gabriel. First: a blood test. 

“Arm,” she demanded, reaching out a hand. Gabriel rolled up his sleeve and exposed the crook of his forearm. She went to pierce his skin with the needle in her other hand, but felt it slip, piercing not his vein but the tender flesh around it instead. 

“Watch it,” Gabriel hissed. 

“Sorry,” Moira said, genuinely surprised at her own gaffe. She took a breath and went in again, finding the proper vein this time around. Good, she thought, she wasn’t completely useless.

They said in silence for a moment as Gabriel’s dark blood filled a few vials. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, Gabriel spoke:

“This doesn’t have anything to do with Angela, does it?” 

Moira tried to hide the way her shoulders stiffened and her face fell, but it had been all too obvious. So, instead of hiding anything, she turned to him in a full snarl. 

“And what, exactly, are you implying has to do with Angela?” she asked, towering over him. 

“I don’t know,” he said. “You just don’t seem yourself.” His voice was a bit quieter. She thought maybe he was even a bit frightened of her. That’s a laugh, she thought, the walking dead, fearing me? 

There was melancholy in this thought, though. She really was so very alone, there was no denying it. 

She yanked the tube out of Gabriel’s arm and began inserting the vials into the centrifuge that analyzed the liquid contents. 

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” Gabriel said quietly. “But you know people talk. And they’ve been talking.” 

Moira sighed, keeping her eyes fixed on the computer. She could only imagine what they had been saying. But how did they even know to begin with? 

Moira turned on her chair to face Gabriel, who was still sitting patiently on the table. 

“What happened?” he asked. He looked concerned, and in his sad eyes Moira could see her own reflection, sagging and gray. 

Maybe this was her chance, she thought. Maybe in telling Gabriel, she would be able to alleviate some of the pain that she could feel weighing on her chest. Even if it didn’t, at least someone out there would know the real story. 

I’m sorry, Angela, she thought. 

Then, she began her story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come ~ !


	3. Old Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Uploading again after a bit of a break. I think I will have a bit more time coming up soon to flesh this out, but mostly just wanting to randomly write sweet scenes of Moira being an emotionally unintelligent fool <3

The whole thing with Angela all began the year before, at the annual Christmas party. How tragically heteronormative, Moira once thought. Now, the evening as it lived in her mind carried a golden glow that seemed irreplicable. 

Moira arrived more than an hour late, wearing a velvet suit the color of midnight, and a golden brooch on her lapel. Toasts had long since been raised, and most were sufficiently inebriated so as to pay Moira little mind as she crept her way through the dwindling festivities. She was only attending to make her superiors happy, anyway. 

Scotch in hand, Moira found a proper corner and considered it her roost for the remainder of the evening. She watched with slight amusement as men hopelessly tried to ply Amélie with champagne and Winston, red-faced, moved with impressive grace on the makeshift dance floor. 

Moira was slightly bleary-eyed herself when a tall woman with golden hair and a crimson red dress appeared at her side.

“Having fun?” she asked.

“Hello, Angela,” Moira said. 

“Not doctor?” Angela joked. “I didn’t realize we were that friendly.” 

The conversation unfolded naturally from there. Moira’s guard fell lower and lower with each drink, each laugh, and each curl of Angela’s pink lips. As the night began to grow sleepier and final rounds were being poured, Moira felt herself lean over and whisper “Why don’t we get out of here?” into Angela’s ear. 

What followed was a giggling taxi ride back to the charmingly-decorated flat Angela kept in King’s Row, Moira chuckling at the family photos lovingly presented above Angela’s couch, and then—a kiss. 

The kiss flourished, easily and tenderly slipping into more: the motion of hands, the exploration of hair, legs, throats. Moira’s sexual side—whatever that meant—was rare to make an appearance, and yet something about the night, about the woman at the end of her fingertips, felt like exactly where she belonged. 

Not only that, but with each touch to and from Angela, Moira felt more and more certain of herself. She felt free. 

***

The next morning, Moira’s first thoughts were of the vague pulsing in her temples. Cursed Scotch, she thought. What was that Symmetra had been discussing about some “Dry January”? 

Then, an even more startling revelation: Moira was naked in a bed that was not her own. The night before rushed back to her with a mix of fear and pleasure. The memories were delicate and loving and yet all she could think was what a terrible mistake she had made. How could she have let herself go like that?

Angela appeared in the doorway of the bright bedroom, carrying two ceramic mugs and wearing the tuxedo shirt Moira had donned under her tuxedo the night before. Her hair was loosely braided and draped over her shoulder. Was that...Moira’s bowtie holding the end of the braid? God dammit, Moira thought.

“You’re awake!” Angela said, her voice jolly and clear. She set the mugs on the bedside table and hopped back into the sheets, leaning in to give Moira a soft kiss on the cheek. 

Instinctively, Moira recoiled. “Sorry,” she quickly added, seeing the crestfallen reaction on Angela’s face. 

“It’s okay,” she said, reaching for her cup of tea. “I made you some coffee,” she said, nodding to the other mug. “You seem like a coffee drinker.”

“You guessed correctly,” Moira said, reaching for the cup. 

They both sipped in silence for a few awkward minutes. Finally, at the same time, they began. 

“About last night—” they said in unison. 

“Oh,” Angela laughed. “You go first.” 

Where should she even begin? Moira had wanted to announce that the night had been a mistake before quickly packing her bags and leaving for good. But sitting across from Angela in the morning light, taking in small, nervous sips of tea...She couldn’t deny that the night had changed her. She couldn’t deny that she wanted more. 

“I don’t know what to say,” she confessed.

“Well I do,” Angela said. “I had a wonderful time last night,” she put her hand on Moira’s shoulder and looked into her eyes. The sensations began building within Moira once again: care, comfort, calm, passion. 

“I was drunk,” Moira said defensively. 

“I was too,” Angela laughed. “But I remember it all.” 

“I do too,” Moira conceded. 

Again, silence. 

Then, a part of Moira that didn’t feel entirely attached to her brain reached for Angela’s arm and pulled her close, pressing their mouths together. Angela tasted sweet and bright. After that kiss, Moira didn’t return home for six nights. Even then, it was solely for the purpose of clean socks. 

Angela’s kiss was a sensation that shot straight to Moira’s heart and brought her alive like a leaf at first sight of the sun. It was as natural, too — something Moira now realized she was incapable of resisting, and maybe even incapable of surviving without.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! Getting a new fic started here. Hopefully I will actually finish this, but I am trying to keep this to under 5k words. 
> 
> I wanted to do a somewhat fluffy/rambly story about Moira working and brooding in her lab. I also really wanted to do more world-building around Moira, who is hands down one of my ultimate characters in any fandom!


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